


Violent Delights

by Katsitting (Nekositting)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Improvised Sex Toys, M/M, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pseudo-Necrophilia, Rape/Non-con Elements, Snake-faced Voldemort, This messes heavily with consent, Voldemort's Got Two Dicks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 17:45:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16937832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekositting/pseuds/Katsitting
Summary: “The Golden boy is no more…” Voldemort whispered, voice high and reedy, amused.Harry was shoved against something hard and unyielding. It scratched along his back, chafing the skin. Harry didn’t so much as flinch, refusing to make a sound when more jeers sounded in the clearing, the words cutting through the rush of blood flooding Harry’s ears—“Fuck him, m’Lord.”“Defile his corpse.”Harry wanted to retch, but didn’t, swallowing back down his bile as quietly as he could while beneath Voldemort’s scrutiny.





	Violent Delights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wetdandelions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wetdandelions/gifts), [whitedandelions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitedandelions/gifts).



> You all know what's coming so let's not pretend you don't know what this is.
> 
> I was given this request, and I am filling it out. The typos are my own.
> 
> Happy Holidays?

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, his fists curling on his sides.

It was time, whether he liked it or not.

The forest stood tall and oppressive before him, shadows from a setting sun curling ‘round the massive tree trunks like serpentine coils. Twisted and united, Harry inclined his head to look at them, absorbing their massive height.

Harry did not falter. He would _not_ falter.

Then, with a turn of his head, eyes peering into the shadows in front of him, he began to walk, moving with all the grace his body possessed. If his heart began to race, he didn’t think on it, didn’t pay it any mind. He was being watched he knew, the force of hundreds of beady eyes on his skin like winter’s breath kissing along his cheeks.

Harry’s stomach churned with the force of their gazes, but still, he did not stop.

There was nowhere left to go but forward. To run now would be stupid, would do none of his friends any favors.

Not when Harry was sacrificing himself to the monster lurking in the shadows, waiting for him. When it had whispered his name in his mind, beckoning him to go, to _greet death_ or be forced to watch others greet death for him.

Harry’s feet carried him through the shadows, spine rigid and strong for someone about to die, but well. Harry was no coward, would not break. He wore his sacrifice proudly, acknowledged it, had even come to terms with it between the time he’d kissed the snitch he’d left behind and run toward the forest, alone.

Death was terrifying, but Harry did not fear it. He wasn’t Voldemort despite the similarities one might assume from just a glance, despite the harrowing reality that he was Voldemort’s horcrux.

No. Harry was not afraid.

Because there was only one person that was dying tonight, and it would not be Harry.

Harry dove into the darkness, branches and leaves prickling over his skin. It was nothing to the forest’s chilly breeze, but Harry didn’t flinch away from it. Determined and purposeful with each step he took deeper into the Forbidden Forest.

He knew where to go, had known with startling clarity that wherever his feet took him, he would find his enemy.

Their connection was irrefutable. It would not fail him. Not now, and certainly not ever again, if Harry had his way.  If all went well, if Voldemort brandished his wand and made the killing blow, Harry would finally be _free_.

The thought spurred him on, made him rush through the thicket, twist and turn around the foliage at his feet. His veins were swimming with elation and adrenaline; dread the binding mold keeping him astride.

It was his only companion now.

Ron and Hermione were back at Hogwarts, the castle utterly ruined and hollowed out by Voldemort’s forces, but it was _safe_. Safer than where Harry would be, at any rate. Harry swallowed back the cynical laugh that thought elicited.

It was funny, really.

That after all his running, after everything he’d been through, he’d be walking straight into Voldemort’s waiting arms.

But it had been destined to be this way, Harry knew. This had always been his battle, his fight to see through to the end. No one else bore Voldemort’s curse mark on their forehead, was the receptacle of Voldemort’s decrepit soul.

Harry was the key, both to Voldemort’s immortality and undoing.

He broke through the canopy what felt like hours, and he stopped.

On either side of him, formed into a half-circle, were Voldemort’s minions. They were like shadows, their haggard faces, and lips a bloodless hue from beneath the dying sun. More dementor than man, more a ghost than a monster, but they were there.

Harry stepped forward, his eyes settling on the one person that mattered after ripping his gaze away from sneering faces of Voldemort’s sycophants.

The Dark Lord was standing at the center of the semicircle of dark figures, his skin pale and luminescent beneath the weak sunlight. It made him glimmer like carved bone, as horrific as such a thought was.  Like he was a precious jewel that’d been thrust into the ground, buried between the fingers of a corpse in commemoration.

Harry stepped nearer still, didn’t stop moving, kept walking with his hands at his sides.

Voldemort’s eyes landed on him, and Harry’s breath stuttered out of his lungs, unease and burning hatred like vicious serpents battling within the wall of his intestines.

“Harry Potter…”

A shudder rippled through Harry at the sound of that familiar hiss, reedy and high with malice and amusement. It was the voice that had haunted all of Harry’s nightmares, followed him through to his waking moments. Left to wonder, _dread_ , when the Dark Lord would finally come to reap his soul. Harry supposed that now was as good a time as any.

“Voldemort.”

Everyone fell still around him at the name, a disgusted sound snarling from the lips of a woman off to the side of the line of followers, hidden from view. Harry didn’t look in that direction, knowing by the malice in that tone alone just _who_ it belonged to.

_Bellatrix Lestrange._

“I knew you would come.”

Harry scoffed, rounding his shoulders when Voldemort began to move, Voldemort’s blood-tinged eyes sparkling and smoldering like a blazing fire. They seared him, but Harry did not flinch from it, did not look away from those eyes.

Harry was here to die, he was here to put an end to this—

“There is nowhere for you to run, nowhere for you to _hide_ …”

Harry inclined his head up, defiance and every bit of rage he possessed like a plate of armor. Hiding away, setting aside the fear that began to spark and sizzle in his spine.

_Don’t lose your nerve…_

“Any last words?” Voldemort hissed, his arm lifting to pull a polished wand from his robes. It gleamed obsidian in the last slivers of sunlight in the air. The elder wand looked as intimidating and dreadful as Harry had expected. “Before you rejoin your mudblood mother?”

Harry clenched his hands into fists, biting into his cheek hard enough to bleed, to stop the rebuke bubbling in his esophagus like an acid reflux.

“Nothing at all? Very well.” Voldemort stopped within a meter of Harry’s lone form, his wand twirling in his bone white hand before leveling it on Harry’s chest. Voldemort’s eyes were bright with delight, with humor and victory, his lips stretching into a thin smile that raised all the hair’s on Harry’s arms.

Harry fought back a smile, trying not to laugh at the mediocrity and the narcissism this man possessed.

 _I’m your horcrux_ …

The thought was scathing, damning. By all accounts, Voldemort should have been able to pluck it from his thoughts if he’d been as a great a wizard as he said, and yet—

Voldemort didn’t _know_.

It was ironic. Delightful and horrid and dizzying how from the start, their bond had never been solely through blood, through some bullshite prophecy that Voldemort’s actions had willed into being, transformed into a _reality_.

No.

_I’m your horcrux…_

Harry’s lips twitched, the bitter tang of iron thick in the back of his throat.

The air began to crackle around them, bursting to life and settling into nothing at the very same time. Harry clenched his hands into fists, nerves singing with anticipation.

_It’s time…_

Harry closed his eyes.

“Avada Kedavra.”

Everything went green, his mother’s eyes personified.

* * *

 

There were whispers in the clearing, harsh and all-encompassing when Harry awoke.

Harry tried not to groan from the force of it, his stomach still twisted and swimming with nausea after he’d died, after waking in that tram station full of light.

_After you’d seen that shriveled up piece of Lord Voldemort’s soul, crying and reaching for arms to hold him tight._

Harry couldn't stand the sight of it, unable to bear through the cries and picking up the pitiful creature.

Harry held his breath when the whispers abruptly ended, and the sound of footsteps stepping on the moist earth assaulted his ears. They moved, cutting through the distance between him and that presence until those feet stopped beside his fallen body.

Harry tried not to flinch when something touched his forehead, smooth and ice-cold. It was like the kiss of death, like a thin blade trailing lightly where his scar had been carved into his forehead.

“...Harry Potter is dead.”

Every cell and nerve froze at the icy voice that spoke above him. The figure who had crossed the space between them, that had touched him with fingers more gentle than Harry had ever anticipated, had been Voldemort himself.

Then, he was being hauled up, dragged away from the dirt by some powerful force that lapped at his skin, that weighed him down until he was nothing but mist between the trees.

Harry swallowed convulsively, careful to hold his breath and make no sound as, suddenly, his clothing was vanished from his skin.

Biting cold kissed along his bare skin, and Harry tried not to shiver, to remain motionless and weightless while naked. He didn’t open his eyes, didn’t need to _see_ for himself that he’d been stripped.

The loud murmuring in the clear was more indicative of this than even the frigid air.

A hand touched his chest, soft and gentle. Harry fought back another shuddering, holding his breath and tremors.

It trailed down the center of it, sliding down to nestle between his parted legs.

Harry willed himself to not move, to hold still at the touch of Voldemort’s clawed hands on his cock, tracing light shapes against his scrotum and down to his shaft, and back up.

“The Golden boy is no more…” Voldemort whispered, voice high and reedy, amused.

Harry was shoved against something hard and unyielding. It scratched along his back, chafing the skin. Harry didn’t so much as flinch, refusing to make a sound when more jeers sounded in the clearing, the words cutting through the rush of blood flooding Harry’s ears—

“ _Fuck him, m’Lord.”_

_“Defile his corpse.”_

Harry wanted to retch, but didn’t, swallowing back down his bile as quietly as he could while beneath Voldemort’s scrutiny.

He could feel those eyes on him. They burned his skin like a brand, singed his flesh, and blackened it like the press of hot metal to frail skin.

The hand returned to his cock, soft and gentle. It made Harry’s stomach turn, the feeling. He tried not to curl his toes when Voldemort started to stroke, to knead the flesh, back and forth with surprising ease.

Harry tried to think of anything but that grip, but the friction and the feeling. He was supposed to be dead, to pretend he was nothing more than a corpse.

Corpses didn’t twitch or move. They didn’t get aroused, though he remembered Hermione once saying that corpses upon occasion did—

The hand disappeared, and Harry almost heaved a relieved breath.

“ _Harry Potter…”_

There was something about the words, about Voldemort’s tone that made Harry’s mouth dry, like something had crawled inside and died in his esophagus. He didn’t twist his mouth, didn’t move when he was bent up, his legs splayed open to expose more of himself to Voldemort’s gaze.

Hands squeezed along his arse, ice cold as they kneaded the skin before parting his cheeks.

Harry tried not to clench his arse, to show any indication he was alive, that he was cognizant of what was even happening.

Something hard pushed against it, and Harry counted to one hundred and back, thinking of nothing else, of anything but the press of a thin rode-like end poking into his arse and breaching his opening.

There was a whisper, hissed and low, latin sucked in between teeth, and then—

Harry’s arse was flooding, wet and sticky.

His toes curled despite himself, his body shuddering, unable to stop the involuntary movement when the wand was cruelly shoved deeper, the round beads on the Elder wand making him squirm and shift.

It hurt. It hurt so much that he couldn’t keep his mouth from falling open to scream, to cry out.

Another whisper, one Harry could barely make out through the rush adrenaline in his ears, and his voice was lost.

_“Silencio.”_

Harry recognized it, understood it, but he didn’t understand what was happening.

“ _Now now, Harry. We wouldn’t want our audience to become aware.”_

Harry’s breaths stuttered to a halt, something like horror and disgust forcing him to open his eyes, to look at the monster looming above him forcing more and more of the Elder wand into his arse. The bumps were too much, each time. They stretched him beyond the point of bearable, sharp and grating against his sensitive walls.

“ _We can’t have your beautiful performance wasted. They think I killed you. Even you believed that it was Dumbledore whom you met on the other side…”_

A jolt of terror consumed him at the same time the wand jabbed something strange inside him, something that had his back bending, arcing in the air. It made his vision go white, made his own blood sing.

_Merlin…_

“ _Oh no, my little horcrux, you were never dead at all.”_

Harry screamed, his voice muffled by the spell when Voldemort began to thrust, yanking back the wand and shoving it back inside. The beads twisted his insides, ground against him in a way that wasn’t unpleasant, and yet—

Tears sprung in his eyes when Voldemort’s eyes caught his, a serpentine red diving into his mind to lap up his thoughts, to catch the mental anguish and the screams that he could not release, could not express.

Then, Voldemort ripped the wand out, the force enough to make Harry’s rim twitch and gape.

Harry had no time to suck in a shuddering breath, to tell Voldemort to go _fuck_ himself, before two fingers were burrowing inside him, scissoring and stretching him beyond the bulbous beads of the Elder wand did.

Harry twisted his head, squirmed and struggled until his movements were stopped, his hands forced above his hand and pinned to the tree behind him. Voldemort’s magic pulsed against the throbbing pulse of his wrist, alive and twisting.

 _No_.

Harry jerked his head to look away, clenching his eyes shut, no longer able to bear the sight of Voldemort’s fingers disappearing into his arse, of his body being manipulated and toyed with like he was nothing more than a puppet on a string.

Voldemort’s fingers seized his chin, nails digging into Harry’s chin with the force of his grip. They bit into it, the silent command and heat of Voldemort’s eyes urging him to look.

Harry refused, squeezing his eyes tight when Voldemort shoved a third finger inside and _curled._

A silent gasp left him, his eyes falling open with shock at the ecstasy that shot through his veins, made his spine tingle. Voldemort’s fingers did not stop, did not waver. They plunged into his arse with wet _schlicks_ , his lubricated hole squeezing and clenching around those fingers against his will with each twist of Voldemort’s finger, drawing him nearer and nearer to something he couldn’t understand—

Voldemort’s hand fell to his cock, now flushed and red and leaking. Harry cried out when Voldemort closed around the base and stroked him, once, twice, and a third time, before closing so tightly around him that Harry could only sob.

His skin was on fire, his insides were crawling and twisting with each beat of Voldemort’s fingers inside him. He wanted to cry, to scream, to get this to stop, to tell Voldemort to go _fuck_ himself—

Harry released a silent cry when Voldemort’s fingers abruptly pulled out of him, his eyes dancing with cruel humor when Harry could only glare, his mouth wet and sticky with saliva that had trickled down the corners from his open mouth.

“ _No need to fret, Harry.”_

Harry’s mouth fell open, unable to quell the horror blooming in his stomach when Voldemort straightened above him, his hand falling low to part his robes and expose two cocks from the flap of his robes.

They were scaled and thick, the tips oozing something white and viscous.

 _No_.

Harry shook his head, struggling against the bindings holding him in place. That couldn’t fit. Voldemort would tear him open, rip him _apart_.

_No._

Voldemort’s lipless mouth twisted into something knowing, his eyes flashing with cruelty before he pressed against Harry’s shaking arse, his cocks rutting up against his quivering taint.

Harry bit his lip hard enough to bleed, to taste iron in the back of his mouth when Voldemort’s hand gripped both of his pricks, the skin hot and pulsing against Harry’s hole, and lined it up.

Another hand made its way up his chest, nails trailing and caressing his skin, as if he wanted to savor the moment, to commit to memory the sight of Harry’s body bent in half and ready to be plowed into by Voldemort’s cocks.

“ _You were made for me, after all.”_

Harry’s eyes rolled to the back of his head when Voldemort pushed into him, forcing his cocks inside, deeper than even Voldemort’s long and spidery fingers had gone. Pain like never before consumed Harry, stretching him past the point of no return, beyond what he could bear.

A silent scream erupted from his mouth, but they were lost to the rush of blood in his ears, by the pounding of his own heart in his chest as Voldemort pressed closer, his face now level with Harry’s.

Hot tears streamed down his cheeks, unable to stop them from falling, to stop them when Voldemort did not stop moving. He only continued to push, his hand sliding up to tease and toy with his nipples.

Harry recoiled at the shock of pleasure the touch wrought, his head smashing into the tree once, twice, a third time until his vision was swimming with darkness, before Voldemort’s magic stopped it, stole that bit of movement from him too.

The pain didn’t stop until Voldemort finally bottomed out, his girths eliciting sharp and terrible shocks up his spine in much the same way a knife pushed into one’s stomach.

It hurt. It hurt so bloody _much_.

And yet—

Voldemort’s hands fell away from his cocks, sliding up to close around Harry’s softening cock before stroking it, teasing and toying with the head with his thumb.

Harry’s mouth fell open, hips jerking, unable to stifle the movement when Voldemort’s fingers closed around his left nipple, rolling it expertly to make Harry’s insides squirm in an entirely different way than it had before.

 _No_.

Harry’s vision swam, glasses falling akimbo on his nose when Voldemort continued to toy with his dick, stroking it back to hardness, until he was oozing precum, the wet sounds of skin meeting skin enough to make his teeth ache. His nipples were hot to the touch, raw and swollen by the Dark Lord’s meticulous attentions.

It made Harry want to scream and cry, to laugh and bite off his own tongue to choke on his own blood. And he should, he knew. He should bite it off, should kill himself now that Voldemort had refused to kill him, to let him die—

“ _No, death shall never touch you, Harry.”_

Harry’s mouth fell slack when Voldemort began to move, dragging his cock out before stuffing it back inside and bumping against something traitorous inside him.

A choked sound left him, swallowed by the spell, but Harry knew that Voldemort could read it from his mouth, could feel the burn of those eyes, of that cruel amusement pulsing in his stomach like it was his _own_.

Voldemort snapped his hips and Harry wailed, silent and teary-eyed, pleasure and pain consuming him. The pain was hardly there now, only the shocks of pleasure remained, tainting him, sullying him in a way that no other invasion of Voldemort’s presence could ever elicit.

Harry was splintering, his mind shattering each time his mouth gaped open, drool running over his chin and down to his chest.

“ _You are mine, body, and soul. From the moment you were born you were meant for one thing in this world, my little horcrux…”_

A pressure began to pulse deep in his belly, hot and violent. It skewered him, broke him open in much the same way Voldemort’s cocks buried inside him stirred his insides, emptying him completely of his self-respect and dignity—

“ _You were meant to be mine. To belong solely to me, and now, here you lie…”_

Voldemort’s face neared his, lips so close that Harry could taste something cold and bitter in his own mouth. It made his insides jerk, his cock swell between his thighs. The way Voldemort touched him, squeezed around his base and teased his head, playing with the glans, was driving him mad.

 _Fuck_.

Harry was ready to burst, his spine breaking and splintering at his back from the violence of Voldemort’s thrusts, from his own body bending and making room for Voldemort’s body to fuck him, over and over again—

Harry came at the same time Voldemort’s mouth touched his, a long and serpentine tongue invading him, stroking and sliding against his gums, teasing his tongue.

Harry kissed him back, unable to pull away, the white in the back of his eyelids robbing him of his sanity, of his awareness with each thrust of Voldemort’s cock against that nerve, touching and prodding, invading—

Still, Voldemort did not pause, did not stutter even as Harry clamped around him, his movements steady and sinuous, as if he was far from finished.

Harry felt rather than saw Voldemort’s magic heat his skin before he was being moved, Voldemort’s cocks still buried inside him as he was carried somewhere far and far away from the shade of the trees, until he was floating on his hands and knees, mid-air.

“ _Petrificus totalus.”_

Harry’s body hardened like stone, unmoving. He’d closed his eye, to rest them, and it was only that small gesture that saved him from having to see what his ears inevitably caught—

There were voices, louder this time, coming from all sides. At all angles, he heard conversation. Some were laughing at something Harry could not understand, others were whispering and jeering, his name rolling from their tongue—

If Harry had not gone colorless from Voldemort’s spell, he might have at that moment. He was horrified, a humiliated wrench in his stomach twisting his intestines into knots.

He was at the center of the clearing, within view of every single death eater in the vicinity. Harry wanted to die, to hide.

Voldemort’s cocks moved inside him and Harry’s mind screamed, unable to do anything but take it. They bumped inside him, nudged his oversensitive body. Voldemort’s hand curled around his soft and wrinkled cock to touch him, the sensation of that hand toying and pinching at the head enough to make Harry scream.

It was too much. Everything was too much.

There were eyes watching him, looking at him being debased by the Dark Lord and—

“ _Do you enjoy being watched, Harry?”_

If Harry could sob, he would at that moment. But his mouth could not move, both spells had robbed him completely of his ability to respond.

“ _You’ve tightened around me, almost deliciously. Does the thought of others seeing you debased by me arouse you, ah—”_

Heat shot up Harry’s spine, his nerves singing when Voldemort continued to prod and stab at that nerve inside him, his fingers stroking him and toying with him until he was leaking pre-cum, cock too spent to harden again.

“ _If only you could see how they're looking at you, my little horcrux…”_

A shudder rippled through him when Voldemort leaned over him to drape his chest against his back to curl his tongue against Harry’s ear and whisper:

_“Devouring you with their little eyes, curious to know just how your corpse would feel—”_

Equal parts revulsion and arousal swallowed Harry whole, his body trembling and shaking against his will as that terrible pressure began to build once again, to push and swell low in his stomach.

His cock was weeping, the wetness of both Voldemort’s own cocks burrowing inside him and Harry’s prick being touched and teased; stroked until it was practically drenched with both his cum and pre-cum enough to make his ears burn, if they could.

_“But they don’t know, my little horcrux. They don’t know that you’re very much alive and coming apart at the seams, aroused not only by my own body touching yours but the heat of their gazes against your bare and naked skin—”_

Voldemort’s mouth closed around his ear, the teeth digging into Harry’s skin enough to elicit another wave of visceral arousal and shame.

The pressure in his stomach was becoming unbearable, insistent, threatening. Harry was going to cum soon, he knew it from the gooseflesh rippling up and down his arms, at the way his breaths became ragged and shorter.

Harry didn’t want this, didn’t want to cum, didn’t want to—

“ _Harry Potter, my little chosen one…”_ Voldemort purred before his teeth were biting into his neck, and forcing Harry over the edge for the second time that night. His vision went white from behind his eyelids, his screams trapped in his mind as pain and pleasure twisted inside him from having come so soon.

Voldemort’s own hips, mercifully, finally, stuttered before, he too, was climaxing, flooding Harry’s insides with something hot and viscous.

Harry didn’t jolt, unable to react when Voldemort pulled out of him, streams of cum oozing from his hole and down the backs of his thighs. He barely silenced the screaming in his mind before Voldemort was suddenly grabbing him by the arm, fingers digging into his arm.

There was a long silence where no one said a word. The rush of Harry’s own blood flooding his ears and the rustling of the forest fading into nothing, until even Harry’s thoughts were lost to the wind.

_Dead._

“Go. Do not disappoint me.”

Then, it was as though Harry’s insides were being stuffed into a bottle. He jerked, his stomach twisting with nausea as he was pulled somewhere, the magic restraining him and keeping him silent melting away at the same time Harry realized Voldemort was apparating them—

“Harry Potter.”

Harry dropped to the ground, his entire body giving out beneath him.

The floor was soft and fuzzy against his cheek, softer than he’d imagine the dank and decrepit cell in Malfoy Manor. A hand curled over his head, petting it, soft and gentle.

Harry groaned, a jolt of something painful spiking up his spine when he tried to twist away, to move too suddenly. It was useless.

Voldemort had to have torn something, done some irreparable damage. Still, Harry tried to crawl, to lift his head and make out where he was.

When he managed to lift his head, it was to a world that was fuzzy at the edges.

It was a dimly lit room, shadowed. There were robes in front of his face, dark and tattered. It obscured the rest of the room.

Harry didn’t know where he was, but he had a hunch that it was Malfoy Manor, guessing from the gaudy rug beneath him and the fear portraits he could make out through his blurred vision.

His glasses must have been lost in the middle of apparating. Harry didn’t have the energy to be put out about that, not when everything hurt.

“Welcome to your new home.”

The voice was soft, delighted, and then his head was being lifted higher, forced to look at the face of the man that had violated him in front of all his followers.

Harry’s breaths stuttered to a halt.

Voldemort’s eyes were on his, bright and serpentine. Crimson.

Then, he smiled.

“ _Legilimens.”_


End file.
